


i want this, even if it's for a moment (one shot)

by onlyboylonelyboy



Category: Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: Bottom Shawn Mendes, Coming Out, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay Male Character, Grammy Awards, M/M, Music, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot, Romance, Smut, Top Shawn Mendes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyboylonelyboy/pseuds/onlyboylonelyboy
Summary: "its 3am. you're covered in sweat, probably from a nightmare you don't remember. you stare up at the giant bedroom with a view of the pacific. you start to panic. this isn't where you live. where are you? how did you get there?"or the one where you wake up and replay the night you had with one of your favorite artists in your head.
Relationships: Shawn Mendes/You
Kudos: 10





	i want this, even if it's for a moment (one shot)

**Author's Note:**

> hi y'all ! so this is my first fic. i've been reading fics for the longest but i never tried writing. but while in isolation, at like 3 in the morning, this story came to me. sorry if it sucks, or if it seems inaccurate, or if i haven't captured shawn's personality well enough. i might continue this story but for now it's a one shot. i enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoy reading it !

its 3am. you're covered in sweat, probably from a nightmare you don't remember. you stare up at the giant bedroom with a view of the pacific. you start to panic. this isn't where you live. where are you? how did you get there? the room feels so massive and uninviting. you want to be home in your bed, away from the world. being a musician is really hard sometimes. all of the press tours and performances, label meetings and rubbing elbows with some of the most despicable people you've ever met. there are some days where you just want out, you just want to go back to the young kid living in the village without a care in the world. you start to hyperventilate and feel a panic attack coming on. you've felt this many times before, and thanks to medication and bi-weekly therapy and two week breaks at local clinics every now and then, you've been able to manage it. you use the 4-7-8 technique, which still seems to work. you breathe in for 4, hold for 7, and release for 8. you do it again, and again. you've centered yourself. you're back in the room in the house by the ocean. you're in malibu, you think. being a part of the industry, you've grown to know southern california more than you thought you would. you still refuse to live there, however. you've worked hard to make the move from your small-ass town in upstate new york to uni (a term you've picked up because you're just SO british) in south london, to living and working on the west end, to the flat that felt like a closet in the village, to your stunning apartment in tribeca. you don't want to trade all that progress for another massive, boxy mansion in the sea of massive, boxy mansions and endless traffic. even though the place you're in right now isn't half bad. the place. why are you here again? you turn your head to glance at the other side of the bed and see him. shawn. shawn fucking mendes. that's why you're here. you see his naked chest rise and fall and you instantly feel at home again. you still can't believe last night happened. you replay the night you had again in your head. 

it was the day before the grammys and by some miracle, you've been invited to the roc nation brunch. the ceremony is in san diego this year, as the recording academy is trying to bring awareness to the rising sea levels in the region, so the theme of the brunch is summer in january. a cheap attempt at getting some views on the academy's part, you think, but you've been nominated for album of the year, so it won't hurt to go. he's invited too, as he's recently signed with roc nation and made quite the sonic change from the generic, acoustic guitar driven bubblegum pop he's known for to a new psychedelic, soulful sound you've become a lot more interested in. you've studied him more recently (you've always had a crush on him even if you won't admit it to yourself) and he seems happier than he was before. you're intrigued about this artistic transformation and you want to talk to him. you have no idea how to approach him, though. you're finally able to catch a glance at him and he's shirtless. like he doesn't have a shirt on. the theme of the brunch was a great idea. if you keep staring, however, people will start to notice, and that wouldn't be good, so you move indoors and try to find a room, away from the party. you enter the indoor venue's secondary, semi-private lounge. you sit on one of the couches, a glass of armand de brignac in your hand. when this life is good, it's amazing. you get a couple minutes to yourself until someone calls your attention. you look up and see him. he asks if it's okay to come in (of course it is) and sits next to you. what he says next is like dream. he compliments you on the "amzing, innovative, introspective, perfect" music you're nominated for. he expresses the desire to collaborate with you on completing a couple of fragments of songs he has saved on ableton back at his home computer. he then asks if you both can move into a more private area, because he really wants your advice on something he cant talk to anyone else about. you still haven't responded to a word he's said, too dizzy and entranced to think properly. you orient yourself, and agree to talk to him. the only place you can find is the bathroom (which is huge by the way), so both of you enter, lock the door, and sit on the bathroom floor, cross-legged. he takes a deep breath, and proceeds to tell you a personal story about himself. he's gay (yes !!!) and he's finally struck a deal with a record label comfortable with him coming out and living his truth. he's ready to let the world know, but he has no idea how tell them. he has a massive following, and he's risking losing everything. he asks,  
"do you know how to help this? help me?"  
fuck. you have no idea what to say. you muster up the courage to push some words out.  
"i'm... gay... too"  
you idiot. he already fucking knows that. ugh.  
you try to laugh it off.  
"what i mean to say is, i get it. and there's no perfect way to do it."  
how the hell are you gonna flirt with him when he wants you to help him come out?  
"i'll be there every step of the way to help you."  
that sounds creepy.  
"i mean, if you want me to."  
"of course i want you to."  
"i'm really sorry. i'll come up with some good ideas i promise-"  
"no worries ! i'm sure you have amazing ideas in that innovative brain of yours."  
he strokes your leg, almost asking permission if it's okay to do what he's about to do next. your lips crash into each other. you begin to make out. you've never made out with anyone this passionately before. i mean you've had one or two grindr hookups and some short relationships so you weren't a virgin or anything, but you've never had a first love. this makeout session felt like the beginning of a first love. he begins to try to take your clothes out and he's struggling (of course today was the day you decided to wear a super elaborate fit) when you stop him.  
"not here."  
you both get up and manage to sneak out of the party. he gets his driver (his DRIVER) and asks him to take both of you to his place, in malibu.

far.

you remember that you have your stuff in a hotel room in san diego. you begin to try to tell the driver to make a detour when shawn, anticipating what you're thinking, says  
"tell me where your stuff is and i'll send it over."  
it was almost a command, and that sent shivers down your spine. you tell him what hotel it is and he makes a call with a member of his team while you sit on his lap, kissing his neck. he can barely get through the call. you make out the entire time. all two and a half hours. it took the strength of the entire band of fucking thebes not to fuck in the car. but both of you wanted to do this right. and it was way hotter this way. the anticipation almost felt as good as the sensation of the sex. and trust me, the sex was unimaginably magnificent. 

shawn's a sex GOD. like you look at him from an outside perspective and he's shrouded in all this mystery and controversy, and of course people will always have some sort of fantasy because its 2028 and he's white and 6'2" and yes our standards are still that low, but you've never thought of shawn as a SEXUAL being. you were fucking wrong. just the WAY he handles you is so amazing. he's delicate and passionate, but at the same time kind of dominant and perverted. it's amazing. it's like he's done this a million times before, which is funny because when you asked him at one point in the middle of the ride over (you know, in between all that making out), he said you're the third guy he's been with. and that must've been a joke you missed. because no one is that good at fucking only having done it (with a guy at least) three times. i mean it's impossible. but somehow it isn't. because he's great at it. you almost came from the quick and seemingly lazy handjob he gave you as you both undressed fully. fuck, you almost came without being touched blowing him (jesus his dick was HUGE-) just from the way he was holding your face. you'd never felt something as sweet and tender and dirty as when he was holding your face. but then he lifts you upright, pushes you onto his bed and gets ready to start fucking you, and nothing could've prepared you for THAT moment. you both asked each other what your statuses were, and you were both in the clear, so you both decided to fuck raw. he was uncut, and for some reason that made it feel even more amazing. it was truly euphoric. he stops short of impaling you before he begins to pull out, leans in to kiss you, and whispers in your ear:

"wanna try topping me?"

now you'd always told people you were a vers bottom, but if you were being honest yourself, you've never topped in your fucking life. so you were scared as hell. eventually you figure he hasn't had much experience to base your performance off of, and after all, how hard could be? and even that moment, the moment you thought could ruin the night, was perfect. you kept finding places that drive him crazy, and that drove you crazy, so you'd keep going, and that drove him even more crazy, so you both continued the cycle until you both came literal fucking buckets of semen all over each other (it sounds gross thinking back on it but it was SO hot in the moment). you cleaned up and showered together and made out with each other and fell back into bed and kept making out and talking and... well, fucking again until it got late and you both eventually drifted off to sleep.

and that's how you ended up here. in bed with shawn mendes, international pop sensation. you must've startled him awake at some point, because he begins to roll over to look at you. he flashes you a smile, his face lit by the moonlight from out the window. this is paradise.  
"you okay?"  
"yeah. i must've woken up from a nightmare, but i can't really remember."  
"yeah, you look sweaty."  
"i'm sorry, am i messing up your sheets?"  
he chuckles.  
"don't worry, we already did."  
you chuckle this time. you reposition yourselves so that you're both sitting up on the bed, looking out the balcony doors at the water. he moves to cuddle you, and you can feel his naked body press against yours.  
"this is amazing.", you blurt out.  
"what is?"  
"us. in this bed. the view. you."  
"can i say something crazy?"  
"shoot."  
and then he says the most breathtaking thing you've ever fucking heard.  
"i've had the biggest crush on you since your debut. i watched the visual album completely bewildered. you're so hot and smart and..."  
"wow. thank-"  
"i love you. and not in the ted mosby, says it on the first date, get mad if you dont say it back, let's get married way. but in the i respect you as an artist and a person, but i also have a lot of feelings for you and want to go on dates with you and be public with you and fuck you senseless and care for you when you're sick way. i'm sorry. i shouldn't have said that, i'm rambling-"  
"i love you too."  
the next kiss felt ELECTRIC. you kiss and kiss and kiss and fuck and cum. the sun rises and you're both cuddling in bed, covered in what both of you know you're covered in. you could do this for the rest of your life. having some clarity, you present an idea to him.  
"what if you don't come out?"  
"huh?"  
"what if we just walk the red carpet tonight together? no explanation. this is the way it is, and everyone is gonna have to get used to it. you could explain later in a post, or even a song."  
"i think i have the perfect verse for that actually."  
"i could help finishing it. i hate tooting my own horn but i'm fucking great at writing a chorus. i could also help produce it if you wanted me to. where's your computer?"  
"in the studio."  
"studio?"  
"i have a mini recording studio in the basement."  
this is never gonna get old. and that's what you did. finished and recorded the song in his studio, completely naked (ugh). it took about an hour of giddy moments and deep introspective moments. before you send the song to get mastered (you have no idea how they'll get that done before midnight), shawn asks  
"are we really gonna do this?"  
"do you really want to?"  
"more than anything."  
"then yes, we really are."  
and you really did.


End file.
